


Coping Mechanisms (Healing Mechanisms)

by ITSFANDOMNIC



Series: doctrina dulcedinem [3]
Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2020-02-02
Packaged: 2020-06-24 14:22:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19725433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ITSFANDOMNIC/pseuds/ITSFANDOMNIC
Summary: Neil, Andrew, Kevin, and Thea are very different people with very different nightmares. That doesn't stop any of them from needing comfort, though.Does not need to be read in order of series.





	1. Neil

**Author's Note:**

> Not beta'd, sorry. Next chapter will be out tomorrow or the day after.
> 
> Warning for mild blood. Not anything particularly graphic, and pretty much nothing compared to what's in the actual books, but I thought I might as well put a warning just in case. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! Comments and kudos are very much appreciated!

Neil dreams, as always, of blood and knives and _darkdeathpainscars._

He's back in the basement (no, not neil- _nathaniel)_ with the smell of blood heavy in his nose.

His mouth, too. It hangs like a ( _chokingmetalthick)_ curtain in the back of his throat. He almost gags on it.

He would, but he forces it back. Something pushes, screaming like he can't, telling him to be _silentstillinvisible._

He drags his eyelids back in time to catch light glinting off metal.

_Cleaver_

The burns ( _facearmspainpainpain)_ fade back as horror crashes down with the blade.

Fear sounds like a dull knife cutting through the air. (Dull cleaver)

Just before the blade starts to cut ( _riphacktear_ ) at the skin, muscle, bone of his legs, Nathaniel's eyelids pull back a second time.

No. _Neil_ wakes with his ringing, pounding heartbeat in his ears and Andrew's hand hovering over his shoulder.

Neil turns, desperate, to Andrew. 

Andrew, half sitting, arm extended, watches him. There is no panic or confusion in his eyes, only understanding and acceptance.

Waiting. Patience.

Neil doesn't have that, though, so he let's out a half-sobbed whisper, Andrew's name on his tongue more comfort than his mother's cold arms, back when. (She never helped after nightmares. Told him to suck it up and stop being weak, but never comfort.)

Andrew drops the hand over Neil's shoulder to skin, lets out a word on a breath.

Neil clings, sobbing, to Andrew's chest. He heaves, shuddering cries that tear his lungs apart and feathers cotton into the very edges of his mind.

Andrew runs the hand not trapped beneath his pillow along Neil's back, up and down slowly until Neil's sobs have no sound, just tears spilled into cloth and heartache into hands.

The sun is peeking out from where the curtains have slipped by the time tears stop slipping from Neil's eyes. 

It's Sunday. They don't have anywhere to be. They don't move.

Neil doesn't know when the steady movement of Andrew's chest lulls him back to sleep, only that he wakes with bright sun illuminating Andrew's eyes and tear tracks dried on his cheeks. 

"Neil."

Andrew's voice is is unwavering, offered as a thread for Neil to use. A guide from his thoughts, his nightmares.

He takes the end, pulls. Uses it as it's meant to be.

He nods, reaction a little too late to be natural. A headache clouds and dulls and slows his thoughts.

Dehydration from crying, a part of him recognizes. The rest of him doesn't care.

"Do you want to talk."

It's not a question. Not an offer. (Andrew knows what Neil will say. He's fine, always.)

It's a part of a routine, one they've done done many times, both sides each.

Neil hesitates, then, quietly, 

"Yes."

Andrew doesn't move, just continues to survey Neil with an almost-blank expression. His hand pauses briefly before restarting.

Neil takes it as the permission it is. With a breath that burns, he finally lets the words pour.

And Andrew listens. He doesn't pull away. His face flashes anger from time to time, but it's not directed at him so Neil doesn't stop, doesn't let his relief show on his face.

He knows Andrew wouldn't shy away from the pain running rampant through Neil's dreams. He knows, but there was always that tiny piece in the corner of his mind that doubted. It's gone, now, silenced by Andrew's almost calm reaction and washed out by Neil's downpour of words, of truth.

He runs out of words eventually. Andrew mutters a question, pulls Neil closer and kisses him when he answers with a fervent _yes_.

Because even though Andrew doesn't understand Neil's specific brand of nightmare, he knows the concept, knows _Neil._

And it's that, most of all, that helps. Neil's nightmares aren't gone, but they're tamed, for now, and he has Andrew at his side to help him battle the darkness back where it belongs.

And Neil, relievedhappycontent, laughs.

* * *


	2. Andrew

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween!! Sorry this took so long.

Andrew dreams in touch.

Unwanted hands curl around his legs, arms, wrist, neck. Searing. They burn his skin.

He doesn't like this pain. Andrew prefers ( _preferred_ ) the clean, neat pain he controlled. 

There's a face. That is not different. His dreams usually do. It's whose face it is that makes him, finally, thrash against the hands, the burning.

_Aaron._

He won't let anyone else suffer what he did. And especialy not Aaron. His brother, twin. _Responsibility._

He breaks the grip on him, claws his way up towards-

_Andrew_

darkness.

Andrew always bursts into conciousness like a fight. Throwing a punch. Getting one.

The room is lit only enough to let him see outlines. The door, dresser, nightstand.

Neil.

There's not enough light for Andrew to see his face, only soft-sharp edges and lit-up hair. Shadowed, but bright.

Neil says his name. Softly. Much too soft.

No, Andrew tells, himself. He can have this. He's fought and earned this, this near-new comfort.

He takes the thread Neil offers, hauls himself up with it. Uses it to stand (not alone. never alone anymore).

His hand hovers over Neil's cheek, the burn scars catching the little light.

Neil nods. Andrew's hand falls. 

The ruined tissue is the unnatural smooth of burns. His thumb swipes over it.

They don't talk. Not with Andrew's nightmares. They lay still, silent comfort in shared breaths.

Sunlight creeps into the room. Light falls on knotted ropes scars across Neil's bare chest. The door pushes open. The cats jump up, settle in the space between them like small, purring, space heaters.

Andrew's eyes slip closed, one hand on Neil's face, the other brushing rougher scar tissue on his stomach.

This is enough. This is _his._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i made myself sad writing this


	3. Kevin

Kevin dreams of red and black and pain.

He dreams he is back in the Nest, watching all the violence he hadn't seen before.

No. All the violence he'd _ignored_ before. That he hadn't wanted to see before.

His world was this: _Exy, Family, History._ His view had been too narrow, too focused, to see anything else.

And Riko was all of these. Exy. Family, in the most twisted, backwards way.

(No. _Percived_ family. _Fake._ ) History as entwined with Kevin as Kevin was with himself.

Not anymore. The threads of brotherbutnot, kingandsubject, oneandtwo, had been torn out and crushed with his hand.

He's underground, living dark, too-long days. Surrounded in red, in black, draining air from his lungs and hope from his heart.

His racquet lies at his feet. Kevin bends to pick it up, reaching for a lifeline, when. When.

Pain shoots through his hand as another racquet, black and taped-red, comes down on him.

Again.

And again.

And again. Until his hand is a bloody, broken mess and his mind is screaming _painexynohelpEXYMYHAND_

He wakes. There is no sunlight. 

_There is starlight, before-unfamiliar pinpricks of soft yellowhiteblue he knows now._

Thea is draped across his chest, her wider frame nearly covering his barely-taller one. She is awake.

After the Nest, Ravens tend to be light sleepers, easily woken. Especially the women. 

She blinks, slowly, at him. Kevin sobs, buries his face in her hair and curls under her- _safepressurewarmsafehome_ -as best as he can.

She obliges, murmuring soft _shh_ 's and humming as she stretches over Kevin. Her thumb brushes his tattoo, gently, more soft than anything at the Nest had ever been.

Kevin breathes the warmly thick air, stuffy from being trapped between them.

Thea is covering him completely, over and around the small ball he's curled himself into. Her chin rests on his head, her hair tickles his nose.

They don't have curtains in their bedroom. The sun rises slowly, sets the orange of the knitted top-blanket on fire and illuminates the blue of the ceiling.

Thea is asleep atop him. Kevin buries his head in her chest and drifts to sleep, soft and calm and home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk why but i reallllly like the hc that kevin likes being laid on. like, full body contact squished underneath someone laid on.


End file.
